A Better Way To Fall
by mykelara
Summary: Missing scenes set during S2E5, exploring Alec Hardy's past and present. Contains Spoilers for Series 1 and 2 up until E6 of Broadchurch.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story was inspired by the moment that Alec Hardy and Jocelyn Knight shared when he came to her to make his will and the question what he did all night before returning to his home in the morning.

I could add all the self-conscious drabble of a first time fanfic author (Are the characters too OOC? Did I make too many mistakes as English is not my first language? What if Ellie Miller calls me a knob?), but I'm not going to. Instead, I truly hope you'll enjoy the journey through the night as much as I did when I was writing it.

I would like to dedicate the story to…

**Lauren** – who is the most amazing person out there. Without her encouragement, guidance and kind words, this would have never happened. Seriously, YOU ROCK!

**My dear husband** – who has suffered endless (and I mean ENDLESS) hours of discussing the ups and downs of Alec Hardy, Ellie Miller and the rest of the Broadchurch universe without even realizing that Ellie was wearing the same orange coat the whole series (and I quote "What coat are you talking about? – The orange one, the one she was wearing the whole time? – Really, I didn't notice that." *insert my exasperated sigh*).

**The Alec Hardy enthusiasts** amongst you guys out there – who share my obsession with this character and just want to give him a hug.

And last but not least, **David Tennant** – because without him Alec Hardy wouldn't be who he is.

* * *

"**A Better Way To Fall"**

**Chapter 1**

"_Well see what you wanna see. You should see it all.  
Well take what you want from me. You deserve it all.  
Nine times out of ten our hearts just get dissolved.  
Well I want a better place or just a better way to fall._

But one time out of ten, everything is perfect for us all.  
Well I want a better place or just a better way to fall."

_\- Modest Mouse "Bukowski"_

* * *

The vivid imagery of the water dripping down his arms, pulling him under, blended in with the foggy awareness of the seawater that was gently flowing around his body. His vision still blurry, he pulled himself up to his knees, heart beating erratically in his aching chest. He tried to catch his breath while fumbling for the pills. His trembling fingers popped them out of the blister packet and he washed them down with cold tea. He was _so_ exhausted, all he wanted to do was to close his eyes without reliving the horrid moments in the river over and over again. His doctors had told him that the feeling of drowning was related to his heart failing and flooding his lung with the blood it couldn't pump anymore, but he knew better. The urge to just give in was strong. And yet, despite all the desperation that had been gnawing at him for what like seemed forever, he struggled to his feet, his hands slowly climbing up his legs and steadying himself.

He looked out over the water – how ironic it was that the home he had chosen was so close to the sea. He really should get out of the habit of staring out onto the ocean while his body was so untrustworthy these days. He was vaguely aware that Miller was rummaging through his files and turning his house upside down. He briefly wondered if he should tell her about the upcoming hospital appointment. But no, she didn't need anything else to worry about and besides, she would just fuss over him, a thought that was bothering him surprisingly less than he would have liked to acknowledge.

A sudden resolution formed in him. He needed to put things right, move on. God knows, he was trying so hard. His conscience was struggling to reconcile the overwhelming relief he was feeling from having Miller being so invested in solving Sandbrook with the burning guilt that he had dragged her into this nightmare. He still couldn't put his finger on the odd sentiment that had washed through him when she had vowed to solve the case, wide-eyed, sincere and disconcertingly determined. He turned around, still unsteady on his feet and without looking into the house, grabbed his coat.

"I'm going for a walk… leave the key under … the thing."

He barely heard her distracted response of, "Okay." He staggered off, dragging his feet through the very puddle he only minutes ago had been lying in.

The soft lights of the fun fair mixed with the setting sun. A smile curled around his lips when he was reminded of Miller's excitement upon discovering the fun fair behind his house; he could still hear her saying, "Bumper cars, Hardee!" with delight. She hadn't seemed so genuinely happy, even for a brief moment, in such a long time now. His lips pressed to a line, he wished he could have joined in the fun, be _Uncle Alec_ and taken wee Fred to the tea cups like he used to do with Daisy a lifetime ago.

He had to slow down his pace, still breathless from before and feeling rather light-headed. The thought of Daisy gave him the strength to go on and determination settled in. He slowly walked up the long gravel path to Jocelyn Knight's house while the sun was setting over the ocean.

* * *

Jocelyn's thoughts were wandering when a noise startled her. She looked up and there was Alec Hardy, his lanky and way too skinny body framed by her door against the golden cloudy evening sky.

"Oh, for heaven's sake… gotta get a lock put on that gate."

She gave him a piercing stare, question written over her face. His quiet inquiry "Are you busy?" seemed like a joke to her.

"Well, of course I'm busy. I'm in the middle of a trial." she scoffed. "What'd you want?"

"Could you do my will?"

The exhaustion was audible in his voice, but so was the urgency. This was the last thing that Jocelyn would have expected. While she gestured for him to come inside, she took another look at him. He was in his usual blue shirt and coat, but they all seemed to hang even more loosely on him. His face was grey and he was breathing hard. There was something wild in his eyes, something she wasn't sure she had seen before.

They sat down on her small desk with her laptop. She started drafting a standard will. It had been a while since she'd done such a simple task. His directions were clear – everything to his daughter Daisy Henchard – she noted the different last name, but didn't pry. He didn't have much, but Jocelyn was surprised to hear about the old family estate in Scotland.

"Anyone would think that I was a High Street Solicitor."

" 'S not like it's very complicated." he said in a soft voice, so contrary to his usual grumpy demeanor. She was typing away, murmuring mostly to herself.

"So, everything to your daughter, held 'til she's eighteen. Hmmm… Lucky girl!"

"Do you have kids?" There was pensive undertone in his voice.

"Never married."

"Is that through choice, or…?" And although his voice was warm when he asked, she couldn't help herself but retort, "What is that? A police interview?"

"No." He shook his head. " 'S alright. Just conversation."

He sounded sincere, which took her by surprise. She somehow didn't picture him as the conversational talker. She took her glasses off, turned and looked him in the eyes. She wasn't quite sure why she opened up to him but something about his tone of voice had struck a chord in her.

"Err, things were complicated. And I made… made them more so. I was at a point, when I should have been strong, and I wasn't… and I missed the person I was supposed to be with."

He looked straight at her with his hazel brown eyes all wide.

"Did you ever tell?" He asked as he held her gaze steadily, not looking quite as grey as he did before and breathing more easily now.

She shook her head. "No."

With a tender voice he said, "Maybe you should."

She let out a sigh. "It's always easy to recognize mistakes in hindsight." She pauses, her face sad. "Much harder to fix them now."

He was still looking at her with a quiet understanding written all over his face.

Taking in a deeper breath, she changed the subject and curiously asked "Anyway, why do you need this… why do you need this now?" Her face was warm and open, encouraging him to respond.

He sucked in a breath and straightened himself. "Just putting things right."

She glanced at him and before she could say anything else, it was his turn to change the topic. "What's your sense of the trial?"

"Susan Wright was a mistake for the defense. Makes them looks like amateurs. Not going into the witness box is going to damage Miller's credibility." His expression was stern and she could not tell what was going on behind that frown.

"He's got to be convicted." He made it sound like there was nothing else left in the world but getting Joe Miller locked up behind bars. With a little more acridity than she intended to, she replied, "I don't need you to tell me that. I'm doing the best I can with what I have." A resigned smile flicked over her face.

They finished the will in silence. When they were done, he thanked her, offered her an envelope with money. She refused to accept, but he convinced her by pointing out that he as the SIO couldn't possibly accept favors from the CPS barrister. Before leaving he asked her for a glass of water. He looked tired again, all energy drained from him. She brought him the water, and he pulled some pills out of his trouser pocket. A sudden memory of reading his medical files flashed by. She had debated with herself to use his health issues to rescue the confession but then had shied away from taking away whatever remaining dignity this man had left by exposing him like this in court. And, who knows how Sharon would have twisted the fact that technically DI Hardy had been placed on medical leave the morning of the day he arrested Joe Miller.

With this memory another image of this man surfaced in her thoughts – the image of a younger looking Alec Hardy, well groomed, healthy and confident, facing the cameras during the Sandbrook case. Maggie had told her about what Hardy had confessed on the eve of catching Joe Miller. It still struck her as unbelievably protective of his child and oddly loyal to a spouse that had betrayed him so profoundly – personally and professionally.

He stood slowly, pushing himself off of the chair. It was dark outside now. He took in a deep breath, leaned briefly against the door frame – a tall and lonely figure against the black sky – before starting to walk out. Jocelyn couldn't quite tell what urged her to pose the question – maybe it was the odd familiarity they had shared earlier, maybe it was because he seemed so lonely, coming to her to make his will when he was clearly not doing well – but she felt compelled.

Quietly she asked, "What happened to you?"

He took in another deep breath and turned around. His hand reached for the door frame again and when he looked up, his eyes were wild.

* * *

Alec wasn't sure why he'd asked her about having kids and being married. He felt strangely at peace. For once in these past months, he felt that he was doing the right thing, that he actually was in control. Ever since that day he pulled Pippa out of the river, things had been falling apart. Caught up in his own past, he was surprised to hear her talk about hers. When he asked if she'd ever told, his mind wasn't on Tess, not even Daisy, but with the woman who was currently occupying his home. He didn't need to be reminded about how hard it was to undo mistakes – he'd made way too many in his life. But maybe soon, all would be over and finally the heartache would stop.

"Why do you need this now?" Jocelyn asked him. He was pulled away from his morbid thoughts, back into the here and now. He sucked in a breath and tried to keep his voice level.

"Just putting things right." He changed the topic to the trial. His need to get any reassurance that his most recent case wasn't going to end like his last case, was strong, but the need to fight the utterly desperate feeling about what it would do to Ellie if Joe did get off, was even stronger. He listened to her while trying to convince himself that she was going to pull of the miracle that her reputation promised. She didn't sound as quite sure of herself as he would have expected, but rather honest and matter of fact.

He convinced her to take his money, a feeble attempt at not messing things up more than they already were. When the time came to leave, his spirit had dampened again and whatever peace he had felt earlier was gone. The thought of walking back to his house was tiring him out, and he could feel light-headedness coming on even before he stood up. He figured she might have seen his medical records, so he asked her for a glass of water and didn't hide the pills that he was about to take. He had to push himself up from the chair, but did alright until he reached the door. It wasn't the night time ocean view that took his breath away, but his dodgy heart yet again.

He leaned briefly against the frame and was wondering whether, if he made it back to his house, he would find Miller and wee Fred camped out in the tiny living space. The thought brought a smile to his weary face. And in an utterly soppy moment that would have earned him a stern frown from Daisy, he wished Miller could have met him before the day he pulled Pippa out of the river.

"What happened to you?"

Yes, indeed what _had_ happened to him? The world around him began to spin out of control, figuratively and literally. He had to reach for the door again. He didn't know what made him turn around, but his last bit of composure was vanishing quickly and there was nothing left in him besides the urge to let it all go. He stared at her and tears that he couldn't hold back any longer were stinging his wild eyes.

Very quietly, he said, "Love - that's what happened to me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jocelyn didn't have much time to contemplate Hardy's reply. His legs gave out under him and he let out a muffled groan. She quickly crossed the distance between them and steadied him, one arm around his shoulders, the other on his chest, feeling the erratic heart beat under her palm.

"Come." She led him over to the sofa. He sat down heavily. He was bent over, head hanging low, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely dangling between his legs. His chest was heaving with his labored breaths and he was clearly in pain.

"What can I do to help?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to call 999?"

His head shot up and he spat, "No." He took in another deep breath and added pleadingly, "Don't. Please. 'M fine."

"Shit you are. And to think they accused you of shagging DS Miller in this condition." She huffed in exasperation.

" 'S not a condition." His voice was muffled, but she could swear there was almost a humorous undertone to it and he might have been hiding a smile. Where did that come from? Gallows' humor?

"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Probably would do you in though. Want a cuppa instead?" She didn't wait for his reply and walked over to the kitchen, not without a quick glance at him. He seemed to have recovered somewhat, leaning back, resting his head against the back of the sofa. He nodded with his eyes closed. When she came back with a mug in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, his eyes were still closed and for a brief moment she wondered if he had passed out. But then he moved, leaning forward, rubbing his tired face with his hands.

"Thanks." He took the mug from her and wrapped his long fingers around it. She sat down opposite of him, very much like that day she had scolded the two detectives about beating up Joe Miller. She remembered Hardy's words, "It had been a very intense day. It was an error of judgment."

"Why'd you take the responsibility for DS Miller's attack on her husband? It wasn't your fault."

He flinched, pushed his tongue against his lower lip and looked away. "Don't know. It happened under my watch."

"That seems to be a rather strong habit of yours, considering what happened in Sandbrook."

He glared at her. There was a held back growl in his voice when he asked between pressed lips, "How'd you know? Olly?" He paused, thinking. And when she didn't offer an explanation, he continued, "No, not Olly. Maggie – right?" Even in his current condition, he still was the skilled observer that had earned him his former position.

His next words rather surprised her. "If it wasn't so infuriating, it'd be rather comical to think that I should have my career ruined by being accused of having an affair. Twice." He took a sip of his tea. "And I didn't even get to have any fun, mind you. How's that fair?"

She couldn't help herself but chuckle at this admission. "Who said life's fair?"

"Ah, I should remember to add that to my catalogue of shitty platitudes – Miller would appreciate it."

And that made her laugh outright.

* * *

His heart was beating more regularly measured by his own miserable standard and the pain was fading. Still shaken up by the events of the day, he was holding on to the mug to hide his trembling hands. Jocelyn's simple question had put his already frayed nerves on edge, throwing him into an emotional turmoil that was hard to fight back. Memories and images were falling over each other, racing to compete for his attention.

And then she had to bring up Sandbrook. He was pleased to see that he was right about Maggie. Bloody journalists. Despite his dislike of the press, it had been oddly liberating to tell them about what happened that fated evening when the pendant was stolen. His sarcasm wasn't lost on Jocelyn and he joined her laughter with a small smile.

His thoughts lingered on Miller for a moment, reminding him of the last time he sat on this sofa. Miller had been so defeated by Jocelyn's bollocking. And all he could do was to sit next to her, putting his arm on the back of the sofa behind her, not touching, maintaining a distance he didn't feel was right.

He should leave, but he knew that his body wouldn't obey yet and so he let himself be carried away by the flow of the conversation. "So, what sob-story did Maggie tell you about me then?" His voice sounded bitter.

Jocelyn held his piercing stare, tilted her head, and shrugged. "I mentioned your last case and your apparent failure, wondering how that might affect the trial. She actually defended you. That surprised me a bit, so I coaxed it out of her… she didn't want to tell first, but in the end she told me about that evening you came to the ECHO's office."

"Did she also mention that Olly threatened to expose my _'condition'_ to get the interview?" His Scottish accent grew stronger with the anger.

If she was surprised, she didn't let on. "Maggie is a friend and just as you try to take responsibility for what your subordinates do, she tries as well. And we both know how futile an effort that can be."

His temper was flaring. "Don't you dare comparing bloody Olly Stevens with my ex-wife." He was getting too upset and had to take in a few measured breaths before being able to continue.

"I wasn't comparing _them_." She vaguely waved her hand at the air.

"I was referring to _you_ and your noble but nevertheless misplaced sense of accountability for poor decisions that others make." Jocelyn was calm. Her tone wasn't without warmth. "If they are not good enough, you shouldn't stand for their mistakes. It doesn't help them grow."

Maybe she was right. He had never even considered _not_ taking the fall for Tess. He had been so in love with her from the moment he first laid eyes on her so many years ago. During the time they were dating all he could think about was that he would never let her down, that he would always have her back, no matter what would come. When he proposed on the street in the wee hours of an ice cold January night, his heart went out to her, fully with no holding back. He felt tears welling up and this time he had no energy left to hold back.

With his voice breaking up, he started talking, "I hadn't seen much of her the past weeks. I hadn't even noticed – say's a lot, doesn't it? I hadn't slept much the night before and was just waiting for her to get home, to talk about..." He hesitated, but quickly continued. "…to talk to her about my day. She called me earlier and said that they had found evidence in the suspect's old car and that she would meet me at the station."

Tess had been so excited that it had been her who found the evidence. If he didn't know better, he could have labeled it gloating. She had been, hadn't she? The realization made him shrink into the sofa.

His words were mumbled, his sentences short and breathless. "When I got there, it was late... She was waiting for me in my office. I could tell right away that something was wrong. She was crying and she never does. I wanted to hug her but she didn't let me touch her."

The image was burning in his mind and the desperate feeling of needing to reach out to her was as vivid as it had been that day. Staring with his eyes blurry from tears, he swallowed and managed to go on.

"I don't even remember her saying that the pendant was stolen from her car. All I could think about was if she got hurt. She was amused because apparently I was foolish enough to think she was the victim of a carjacking." An image of Tess' beautiful face wearing a smug smile flashed through his mind.

"It never even occurred to me that she might not have been in the car until she basically shouted at me that she wasn't in it, that she'd parked the car in the hotel garage." He was choking up, the memory of that night almost taking a physical hold over him.

He had been so blind and it still stung how much contempt for him she's had that day. How could he have not known? Not that he would ever compare a cheating wife with a child murderer but he had to admit that every time Miller asked him, how she could have not seen, he was jolted back to his own memories and the feeling of deep betrayal that would become his close companion ever since that fateful evening. His tears had dried up and only emptiness was left.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he continued. "I didn't quite get it, why she would have stopped on her way to the station." Tess had always been rather direct and delivered punches with precision. "She laughed at me… and then she told me about the affair she'd been having. With another DS, a person I trusted. For months. And I never knew, _I never knew_."

He cringed at how obvious the pain was in his voice. He could feel an ache in his chest, and this time it might not have been his failing heart. It never stopped to surprise him, how much it still hurt, even after almost two years. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands down his face.

* * *

Jocelyn was annoyed at Hardy. He of all people shouldn't be judgmental about Maggie. What did he know about her anyways? Olly Stevens on the other hand was in a class of his own. She agreed with Hardy that Maggie shouldn't let have Olly get away with all the instigating he had done. The day of Jack Marshall's funeral was still edged in her memory as a day she lost a dear friend.

She looked at Hardy. He was struggling to keep his composure and in the end lost the battle. Tears were flowing down his gaunt cheeks. His voice was breaking up when he spilled out his story of the day that might have ruined his life forever.

She listened quietly. A tale of spousal betrayal wasn't something she hadn't heard a million times in court before, but she couldn't help herself but feel deep empathy for this loyal man who seemed to be in such despair.

And always the barrister, a question came to her mind. "Why weren't you at the car search? You seem like a rather hands on detective."

He opened his eyes, pulling away from the strong emotions. "I… I had a doctor's appointment that day."

She could have sworn there was shame in his voice. Contemplating her own health issues and her less than mature way of dealing with it, she wasn't that surprised.

"Your _'condition'_?" She prompted.

He nodded. "I didn't wanna go. Hate bloody hospitals. The CS made me though. He's a friend. Guess he must have noted something and was worried enough to threaten me with an official visit to the CMO, if I didn't take care of it myself. He even recommended a doctor." He took in another deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Didn't make an appointment though 'til the day I almost crashed the car while driving Daisy to school." Now the shame was unmistakably there.

"I got light-headed and missed a red light. We were just lucky the other car wasn't going any faster. Daisy was scared but I don't think she really understood what happened. We didn't tell her mother." He looked at Jocelyn, guilt plastered over his face.

He rubbed the back of his head, looking away again and added almost inaudibly, "I could have killed her."

"You didn't though." She reached over the small table and put a reassuring hand on his knee. "What did they tell you?"

He scoffed. "Bloody doctors – it's always do as we say or you'll die." Calmer he added, "Guess they were right after all." And after another long pause, measured only by his heavy breaths, he chose to reveal more.

"That day, I found out that I have what seems to be a severe form of heart arrhythmia and would need to be on treatment for the rest of my life. Apparently, I am at high risk of dying of cardiac arrest. Need a surgery that most likely will kill me. Wasn't supposed to be stressed out or run down any suspects – that didn't quite work out for me then, didn't it?" He flicked a sideways glance at her, lips tight with self-loathing.

"Did you tell your wife?" She remembered the day she couldn't keep her problem as secret anymore. The strong feeling of embarrassment and the need for support were fighting each other, and finally the wish to not be lonely anymore in her struggle won over the shame. Not so for him.

He shifted uneasily, leaned back and looked up to the ceiling, everything to not look her in the eyes. "No, never had a chance. Went home to tell Tess so she could help me with the decision I couldn't make, but then…" His voice trailed off and he didn't have to finish the sentence.

His eyes were dark and he looked utterly exhausted. This time it was Jocelyn's heart that ached with sorrow and pain.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: **Thanks to everyone** who made the story their favorite, reviewed or is following. I hope you will enjoy the continuation of Alec's journey through the night.

This chapter is dedicated to **Hazel **– whose enthusiasm is infectious and has been the involuntary victim of my rambling about S2E5. Thanks for letting me roll with it.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

They sat in silence for a while, each hanging on to their own thoughts. Hardy had closed his eyes, slumped down on the sofa. And it wasn't long until a soft snore gave away that he had dozed off.

Jocelyn frowned. This wasn't quite how she had pictured her evening to play out. She scoffed. Soul searching with DI Shitface - what the hell was she thinking? She grinned when she remembered this gem of police station gossip Maggie had shared with her.

It was getting late and she realized how hungry she was. She stood and gazed at the sleeping detective. He might as well get some rest, he sure looked like he could use it.

She went into the kitchen to prepare supper, for herself and her surprise visitor. She didn't really enjoy eating alone. Startled, she almost dropped the pot with the pasta sauce when she heard coughing and choking from the living room.

She hurried back to find Hardy perched on the edge of the sofa, gasping for air. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his shirt was stained with sweat. He was shaking and clumsily searching his pockets. The pills, she figured. Where had he put them?

"Where's ma coat?" He was panting and slurring his speech.

She found the pills in his coat pocket. She handed them over and went to get some water. By the time she came back, he had already swallowed them dry.

"Better?" He resumed a similar posture like earlier in the evening, bending over, elbows on the knees, shaking hands dangling between his legs. He eventually nodded, still not talking.

Leaving him to recover, she finished preparing the meal and putting food and plates on the dining table.

"Care to join me?"

"Don't wanna impose." He was still short of breath.

She let out a snort. "Seriously? You show up at my doorstep looking like something the cat dragged in, scaring the bejesus out of me and then you develop a conscience over dinner?."

He rolled his eyes at her, but he slowly made his way over to the table. He plopped down on a chair and with a look at the rich pasta sauce grumbled, "I can't eat that."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, it's this or be hungry." He rewarded her with an odd expression on his face and then, very unexpectedly, a wry smile curled around his lips.

His reply made no sense to her. "You don't own an orange coat, do you?" At the look of her puzzled face, the wry smile turned into a broad grin and he reached over to serve her some food.

Spearing some pasta on his fork, his gaze found her eyes, and very sincerely he said, "Thank you."

* * *

He woke up, shaken by the haunting feeling of being pulled under. The unfamiliar surroundings didn't help to settle the rising panic. He gasped for air and fidgeted for his pills.

His vision returned and he became aware of Jocelyn staring at him.

"Where's ma coat?" He focused on breathing, trying to ride out the attack.

Wordlessly she put the pills in his hand. He didn't wait for her to come back with water. God, this was the third attack this evening. At this pace he wouldn't even need the bloody surgery to finish him off. He silently cursed the moron he had been talking to on the phone earlier in the day. For once he had tried to do the thing they asked him for - let them know when he was getting worse - and what good did that do? His bloody GP couldn't even pronounce his meds right.

The anger helped to find his way back to the present. He nodded when Jocelyn asked him if he was better. He felt awkward accepting the dinner invitation but then she was right - he already had intruded way more than planned.

Of course he had to be rude, not being able to keep his mouth shut about the choice of food. Her answer took him back many months when he shared a meal with Miller for the first time. And before he knew it he asked about the coat, the piece of clothing which represents the only crime against humanity that Miller ever committed.

His mood lightened with the thought of Miller and how close they'd grown over the past weeks. There are no secrets between them, she had said to Claire. He felt like an arse for not telling her, how ill he actually was, not telling her that he might not be around in a couple days' time. But he couldn't bare the idea that every time she looked at him it would make her even sadder.

His raised spirit had vanished as quickly as it had come and somberness settled in. He picked at his food and suddenly was very grateful for Jocelyn to have given him this fleeting moment of joy, however unknowingly so.

He looked her in the eyes and his "Thank you" was utterly sincere.

* * *

They finished dinner and much to his bewilderment, Hardy found himself looking for an excuse not to leave. The thought of walking alone through the night back to his empty house didn't sit well with him. He didn't mind so much anymore walking along the cliffs and staring at the never ending sky as he did when he first came to Broadchurch, but tonight it was making him shiver and feeling rather unsettled.

"Let me help you clean up. I wash, you dry?"

With an inquisitive look, Jocelyn replied, "Sure. Why not."

He started running the water in the sink and watched it dripping of his hands, running down his long fingers. He sucked in a quick breath and grabbed onto the side board in an attempt to fight back the ever looming nightmare. He picked up a plate and started rinsing it off. Pippa's dead face ghosted through his mind, morphing into Daisy's face and the next thing he was aware of was Jocelyn yelling at him.

"Oi, would you mind… quit day dreaming and breaking my dishes."

He mumbled a breathless " 'M sorry" and stared into the dark out the kitchen window over the sink, holding on tightly to the counter.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" It was a quiet invitation, not prying, giving him the option not to respond.

He turned around in silence, releasing the grip of his hands. He leaned against the sink and looked down on his empty arms, feeling the pull of Pippa's weight on them. Quickly he folded his arm over his chest, in a pathetic attempt to make the feeling go away.

"Have you ever seen a body after it's been in the water for a few days?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Not an easy thing to forget." He can hear the echo of the unpleasant memory in her voice.

She sat down at the small kitchen table, moving out the other chair, beckoning him to sit. He walked over to join her. His propped up his elbow on the table and rested his forehead on his hand. His eyes were burning with the tears he couldn't shed. He took his wallet out of his pocket, opened it up and shoved it across the table.

"This is Pippa Gillespie, one of the victims of the Sandbrook case. She was twelve years old when she was murdered. I pulled her body out of the river." His voice was toneless. Jocelyn's face was pale, but the look in her eyes encouraged him to go on. He quickly continued before the terror could catch up with him.

"She'd been in the water for two or three days. Her body was…" He choked up and couldn't finish the sentence. He pressed his fingers against his closed eyes. Ever since he came home that day and cried at Tess' shoulder until he had no more tears, he had only really talked to one other person about it. And Miller had listened to his confession in silent horror, quietly tearing up next to him in the car, sharing his despair more than Tess ever seemed to have.

* * *

Jocelyn looked at the picture of the pretty teenaged girl. Her dark hair softly framed her face and her smile was infectious. She assumed she was Hardy's daughter, which turned out couldn't have been farther from the truth. She was somewhat taken aback by the thought of him carrying the picture of a murdered girl where others would have a picture of their child instead and it made her question his state of mind.

She tried not to cringe at the image of him pulling the dead girl out of the water. The horror was so apparent on his face that there was no need for words. But there was also something else in his wide eyes, something feral and unchecked. And his next words confirmed her hunch.

"Who would leave a child like that? What sort of person _does_ that?" He spat out the words like they were venom. His accent was thick with the rage washing through him, his breathing rugged.

"She was the same age as Daisy. What if it had been her, what if…" And again his emotions were too strong for him to continue. His whole body was strung with tension. He let out the breath he had held in and looked her straight in the eyes.

"I almost died that day. Went way in deeper than I thought. I got pulled under water trying to reach her body. I'm not…" He corrected himself, "… _was_ not a bad swimmer but turns out that exertion, especially in the water, is the perfect trigger for my heart to go to hell. The doctors in A&amp;E had a field day with me." He scoffed. "Being the 'interesting case of the day' is not something you want to be as a patient."

He continued, voice low and laced with pain. "I don't sleep anymore. I drown every night, over and over again, feeling her weight pulling me down. And more times than others it's Daisy that I drag out of the water." He tried to stifle the sob that was making its way through his chest.

Almost not audibly, he ended, "I can't help but think, that in a way, I _did_ die."

Jocelyn wasn't quite sure what to say. 'I'm sorry' seemed hopelessly inadequate to even start addressing the anguish that he had faced. She realized that she was listening to the confession of an utterly broken man whose believes in the world had been shattered within a few heart beats, all walls tumbling down on him.

"The day that Lee Ashworth walked free because of my inability to prove without a doubt it was him who murdered Pippa, I went to the river." He paused, his face covered by his hands, rubbing his forehead. "And if it hadn't been for Daisy, I would have never come back from there."

All she could feel were the tears flowing down her face, joining him in his despair.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: **Thanks again to everyone** who has been reading, following, making it their favorite and were so kind to leave comments. This chapter holds a soft spot in my heart and when you read it you may understand why.

The chapter is dedicated to…

**My wonderful daughter** – who has been delighting my days with randomly mentioning David Tennant with a mischievous grin on her face as she knows her mother his beyond hope…

**Her equally wonderful father** – who may be the only husband out there seriously considering getting his DT obsessed wife a life sized card board cut out DT for her birthday (hence the kid's random remarks about DT). I will never forget the look on his face when he was holding his daughter for the first time in her life.

**My grandfather** – because without him I might never had a true Dad.

And last but not least to all **fathers and daughters out there**. Because it's a special bond.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Jocelyn lost track of how long they were sitting in silence. He was staring, eyes unfocused, caught up in his past. Midnight had long come and gone. The air had gotten cold and she felt a chill creep into her bones. When she eventually moved, her body was stiff. She stood up and decided to make some tea – the British answer to every ailment. She placed a steaming mug in front of him, but he didn't seem to notice. She gently put her hand on his shoulder. Startled, he whipped up his gaze, trying to focus on his surroundings.

She smiled at him, and trying to let her instincts guide her to offer comfort, she said, "Tell me about Daisy."

He moved stiffly on his chair, cradling the tea mug, and a small smile lit up his face.

"She used to make me tea in the morning. She said 'm absolutely impossible before my first cuppa."

"And? Is she right?"

He groaned a little. "Aye. No good without it. She had made me a mug in school, for my birthday." And as an afterthought he added speaking more to himself than her, "Didn't survive the divorce though… Tess broke it." He ducked his head and his lips were pressed to a thin line.

"Do you have a picture?" Jocelyn needed to know. She needed to know because at the back of her mind she started to worry about him.

He picked up his wallet and pulled out a photo. It had some wear and tear, well-loved and looked at often. He handed it to her. It was a picture of a man dancing with a young girl. The man was facing the back of the camera but from the tall thin figure, it must have been Hardy. His arm was extended, twirling a young girl with flowing long reddish-brown hair. Whoever had taken this picture proved to have exceptional timing, capturing her movement just at the right moment. She was holding her father's hand, the other arm gracefully swinging out next to her body. Her long purple dress was swaying with her dancing. She had just about twirled around enough to fully face the camera, her brown eyes wide with joy and the most gorgeous smile on her face.

"Oh, she's beautiful."

Now his face truly lit up and his smile was just as gorgeous as his daughter's. "It was my best friend's wedding. She wanted to dance with me, but I'm crap at it. She nagged me the whole evening until I finally gave in. I'm glad I did."

He was still smiling when he continued, this time of his own accord. "The wedding was right after she'd been in the hospital – she'd had her appendix taken out. Her mother didn't want her to go. Daisy wanted to so badly, she'd picked out a special dress and all. But Tess was firm on her decision. They argued until Daisy locked herself in her room and refused to come out the night before the wedding."

His smile turned into a mischievous grin. "Tess wasn't going to go to the wedding – she really didn't like my friend. She was on back up that day. I had a few outstanding favors, and miraculously she was called in to work." His grin grew wider. "Daisy and I snuck out to the wedding and Tess never knew we'd left."

He rubbed the back of his head and gave Jocelyn a sheepish glance. "When we came back, she was furious. I'm not sure what went on between Daisy and her, but after she threw about every insult possible at me she didn't talk to me for a week. I never regretted taking her though, not once." He caressed the picture with his fingers and placed it carefully back in his wallet.

Jocelyn listened to him talking about Daisy's birthday parties, her futile quest to get a puppy, the little notes and stories she would write for her Dad – all the tales of a happy childhood. She could see the transformation in him – shoulders being less tense, jaw relaxing, his eyes glowing with pride and joy, the feral stare wiped away.

"She loves the ocean. We had to go on a beach holiday at least once a year. She used to tease me all the time about my utter dislike for the coast. I hate the sand, she loves it. I hate sea gulls, she thinks they are immensely entertaining. I hate the endless sea, she wants to go out there and see the world. I hate the never ending sky, she feels it makes her free." He sighed.

She was amused at the thought of him being in Broadchurch, the very place he clearly couldn't stand. "Odd choice for you to come to Broadchurch then, if you hate it so much."

He avoided her gaze and mumbled, "I had my reasons."

Jocelyn didn't question that further. She could see his face change with that thought and didn't want him to go all brooding again. Better stick with talking about the daughter. She was going to ask, if she had visited, but she had a feeling the answer would be no. She didn't want to open up wounds, so she decided to ask about school instead.

He grunted, all the exasperated father. "Oh, she hates school. She says, it's 'pretty shit'. She always did, right from the start. We had made this great plan, she and I, for the big day. I took her shopping. She picked out this really nice chocolate brown dress with a big sparkly red heart on the chest. She looked so pretty in it." His eyes glazed over with the memory. "I picked the school bag – that's a Dad job she said, taking care of the more practical things. And together we picked her coat – she gave me permission to be part of that as it's a pretty thing but also practical."

Absentmindedly he took a sip of his now cold tea. Equally absentmindedly his hand rubbed over his chest and his lips flinched in pain ever so slightly. Jocelyn wondered if she should find those pills again. But then he continued with his story, a lighter tone in his voice than all evening.

"We got to the school. She was so excited. I hugged and kissed her and sent my baby girl off. I snuck out at lunch to pick her up. She was fuming when I got there. Some other kids had made fun of the bag that I had picked. I felt bad about it – responsible for causing her pain – but she gave me a hug and said, that's rubbish and that she loved the bag. She wouldn't have let me pick it, if she didn't like it anyways. And then she reminded me that it hadn't been me saying those mean things to make her feel bad, but the boys in school, and that I shouldn't take the blame for others."

He paused, contemplating what he just said. "Maybe I should have listened to her then…" His voice trailed off, the thought sinking in.

* * *

Hardy's distress and anxiety were fading. He hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time. Talking about Daisy, engulfing himself in happy memories wasn't something he was too accustomed with. His life for the past two years had been this shit storm of one blow after the other, one disaster chasing the next, riddled with failure – personal and professionally – and an increasing isolation from everyone around him.

These past weeks, he was desperately struggling to not give in to the black hole that his loneliness had become. Perhaps this was spurred by watching his only friend Ellie Miller following him down this path. He hadn't seen her in a while before the trial started. However, he had been keeping up with what she was doing. His few contacts at the Devon police department had proven themselves rather useful. He tried to keep in touch with Tom, but it was made more than clear to him by Lucy and even more so by Olly that this was not desired.

He felt a pang of guilt that he actually had gone as far as follow her around for a bit to see if she was making friends. If she ever found out about that, she probably would finally throw that cup of piss at him. _'Knob'_ Her voice was echoing through his mind. When he figured out that she was seeing a therapist, he didn't know if he should feel relieved or not. At least she was talking to someone, not like him, who just had quit human contact, period.

But then she had invited him for dinner. She had been trying to be nice to him despite him being his usual arsehole self. She had brought him coffee, food and even shoes, for god's sake. So different from Tess. When he met her at the beach the day he arrested Joe, he meant every word he said to her. She had done a good job, and his heart went out for her, knowing what was to come. There wasn't one fiber in him that didn't feel responsible for shattering her life, however indirect.

And then he was forced to watch her fall apart, with nothing to offer but himself and his pathetic attempts at human interaction. He watched her turn from this incredibly warm and bubbly person into _him_, and the amount of hate and disgust he felt for Joe and the rest of them was burning inside him almost as hot as the anger for Pippa's killer.

He wanted to protect her, save her like he couldn't save Pippa, like he couldn't save himself. And all he could think of to do was to draw her into his nightmare. He had to admit that she seemed to light up with a fire he hadn't seen in a while when she had told him earlier that she would solve Sandbrook. He wanted to believe her, because maybe if there was hope for her, maybe there was hope for him after all.

Sharing his memories of happier days reminded him of what he had lost but it also reminded him that Daisy was still out there, that he owed her to at least give them a chance to make it right again. She still didn't know the full truth about her parents' divorce. She had told him with the straight words of a six year old that he needed to stop blaming himself for other people's mistakes. Maybe it _was_ time to put things right.

"A penny for your thoughts." He jumped and looked at Jocelyn. She bent her head, and raised her eye brows, scrutinizing him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was thinking about what you said… my bad habit of taking responsibility for what other people did wrong." He shifted uneasily on the chair.

"You're talking about Ellie Miller beating up her husband?" He cringed at the bluntness of the question.

"That too." Briefly he was fighting with the urge to clamp up and not talk about it. But he'd already revealed so much, he might as well. And thanks to the bloody journalists she already knew anyways.

"But no... more like Tess and me." He squirmed some more, and agonized over the words. "It would have ruined Tess' career. I drove her into the arm of another man, so the least I could do was to take responsibility."

"You believe this rubbish? Really?" Jocelyn sounded exasperated. He had to admit he didn't even convince himself.

He rubbed his hands over his face. "No." His response was breathless and barely audible. He had to fight the self-loathing that tended to come with this particular memory.

"It was always about Daisy, nothing else mattered. When she turned from child to teenager, she grew so close to her mother. They were always sticking together, giggling, talking… _girl talk_." He scoffed. He loved watching them huddling over the kitchen table, so genuinely happy and care-free. Daisy's laughter would ring through the house. And although he tried not to be jealous of their growing closeness, it was hard at times. He was still Daisy's hero, but more and more often now, she would come to her mother first and not to him.

Jocelyn patiently waited for him to continue, she wouldn't accept anything but the full painful truth.

"When Tess told me about the affair, there never was a question in my mind that it would have shattered Daisy's world knowing that about her mother. The only way to avoid her finding out was to take the blame for what happened with the pendant." He hated himself for having to do that. It went against all his principles as a detective, but at the time it seemed to have made sense, at least to his frazzled mind back then.

Jocelyn frowned at him. "No offence, but _that_ was a stupid plan, really stupid. What were you thinking? You should have just told her the truth. Lies will always come out and it makes everything more complicated."

He growled at her. "Oh, that's another good one for the shitty platitude collection. 'Lies will always come out'? Seriously? Tell that to the bloody journalists who invented my life story for me. Go on, you've got their ear. Maybe they'll listen to you, they certainly didn't listen to anything I had to say. And whatever I did tell them they twisted around and used against me." He was breathing hard, shaking with pent up anger and frustration.

Jocelyn seemed taken aback. She didn't quite deserve the lashing out but he had no restraint left in him. She was right, it had been a stupid plan and it couldn't have back fired more on him than it did. By taking the responsibility for what happened he also had to go along with the story that came with the lapse of professionalism. It never had dawned on him that the press would accuse him of an affair he didn't have, but he should have known better. 'An error in judgment' – god, he really sucked at this, didn't he?

He calmed down, and begrudgingly mumbled, " 'M sorry. Didn't mean to yell at you. 'S not your fault. 'S my own mess." And after a brief pause he admitted aloud for the first time in his life, "It was a stupid plan. I didn't think it through… I never thought it would end this way. I just loved them both too much to see them get hurt. Daisy always said I'm too soppy and it would be my downfall. And as usual, she was right."

With a deep sigh, he looked up and out of the kitchen window. The first feeble lights of dawn were filtering through the glass. He'd survived another night.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who followed Alec's journey through the night.

This chapter is dedicated to **Carrie** whose feedback was vital to this bit of the story.

Turns out that thanks to a request by the** amazing** **Lauren,** a whole universe of possibilities opened up and soon we may be seeing the picture of Daisy that Alec carries in his wallet come to life :-)

Trigger warning (I thought for a long time if I should put this warning or not as I'd like to have the reader walk along the story without preconceptions. But then I don't want to upset anyone, so here it is): Images of suicide.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Jocelyn was exhausted. Her unexpected company's emotional journey through the night had taken a toll on her. Not as much on her though as it had on him judging by his haggard and pale face. She took a deep breath and got up from the kitchen table they had been spending the wee hours of the morning at.

"I should leave." His voice was hollow. "You have court today." He slowly stood up, leaning against the table.

"A bit late to consider that." She gave him a piercing stare. He ducked and his shoulders curled in when he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. It was such a defensive posture. Jocelyn wondered if he was even aware of it.

" 'M sorry about..." He didn't finish and just looked away, his lips pressed together.

She walked up to him and put her hand on his elbow. He flinched ever so slightly with the human contact.

"It's quite alright. I didn't mind. You came to me for help." She gave him a quick encouraging nod and a squeeze on the arm. "Are you okay to walk home?"

He shrugged. "Suppose so." He pulled out the pills from his pocket and slowly turned the blister pack over and over again. "Guess I should take some before I go."

She put her hand on his, stopping the nervous gesture. "Can they do anything about it?" She tried to sound hopeful but considering her own situation, it didn't quite come out that way.

He gave her a curious look - he sure was perceptive - and answered quietly, "Aye, they can. I'm having surgery in a few days... day after tomorrow actually. Pacemaker. I don't know if..." A tremble in his voice betrayed his outward calm expression. He sighed deeply, "I don't know if I'm going to make it."

So _that_ was what had prompted him to come. "I see, putting things right then."

He ran his hands through his shaggy hair and nodded. He went to get water at the sink, dumping out the cold tea, and swallowed his pills. He then walked out to the living room collecting his coat. He hesitated for a long moment before putting it on.

Jocelyn watched him from across the room. He started walking towards the door. He stopped and turned around, pulling two envelopes out of his inner coat pocket. They looked crumpled and had probably been in there for a while. He held them out for her to take.

"Would you do me a favor? If..." He braced himself for the next words. "If I will not... survive the surgery, can you take care of these?" And he handed her the rather beaten up envelopes.

His hand writing was neat and rather curly for a man. One was for Daisy - not surprising - the other though did spark her curiosity. It was addressed to Ellie Miller. She looked up from the envelopes. He had already opened the door.

And in a similar fashion like the evening before, he paused and leaned against the door frame, head down, shoulders slumped. Her worry though was brief, as he straightened himself up, took in a deep breath, and turned around to find her eyes.

"Thank you for..." He struggled with the words. "... for listening. It means a lot." And with that he turned quickly and was out the door without her having a chance to reply.

Her gaze followed him while he slowly walked down along the cliff. She was clutching the envelopes, crumpling them even more, hoping desperately she wouldn't have to deliver them anytime soon.

* * *

He had left the envelopes with her rather than continuing to carry them around with him. He had figured that in case something happened to him they would find them amongst his personal belongings and get them in the right hands. He had written the notes for Daisy and Ellie after it was clear he couldn't avoid the pacemaker any longer without losing his chance of even being able to get the surgery done. Jocelyn would take care of it, and that filled him with relieve and a sense of calm. At least he would have a chance to say thank you and good bye to both people who made his life worth living for, even if he never could do it in person.

The light was still grey, the sun hadn't come up yet to lend color to the sea and the cliffs. If there was ever any time he liked the coast, it would have been in these early morning hours.

He felt not as exhausted as he ought to be after being up all night and his mood was oddly peaceful. On a whim he decided to go for a detour walking towards the camp site he had spent time at as a boy. His pace was slow but steady until he reached the top of the cliff.

He stared at the horizon, lost in memories of a lifetime ago. He sat down in the damp grass, pulling his knees to his chest like he used to do as a boy. It was as comforting as it had been back then. He could sit for hours like this. Hours spent away from his arguing parents.

The memory was painful, but he didn't push it away as usual. He had never told Miller why, when they found Danny, his first question was about the cliff being a suicide spot. And maybe he never will.

He closed his eyes and saw his mother in front of him. Her hazel brown eyes, so much like his own and Daisy's, looking at him with warmth and sorrow. They were standing at the edge of the cliff. He had followed her through the dark night without her knowing that he was there. She was staring at the horizon, not moving when he called her name. He walked up to her, taking her hand. When she looked at him, he realized she had been crying. He had asked her if she was alright but she didn't reply at first. Then pulling him close to her, she talked to him about how sorry she was for all the fighting, for all the pain they had caused him and how it wasn't his fault. She was talking to him about how life didn't always turn out the way you expect it to be but that God will put you in the right place at the right time.

Hardy was sobbing. He hadn't allowed himself for such a long time to live through this memory, to let it get so close to the surface. But it was always there, lurking, and being in this place of all places had made it harder and harder every day _not_ to look at it. He really didn't want to but it was too late now and the images flooded his already exhausted and overstimulated mind.

His eyes were still closed, but he had stopped sobbing. He unconsciously held his breath. His mother hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss on his wind tousled hair. Then abruptly, she let go of him, and with a whispered "I will always love you, Alec." she stepped off the cliff, the wind carrying away his name, taking it away from him forever.

He didn't move for a long time, his body getting stiff with the chill of the early morning. His mind was empty and he felt numb inside. But there was also a calmness and peace. He didn't regret coming up here and paying respect to his mother's memory, maybe for the last time in his life. It felt right, something she would have done as well.

Eventually, he ran his hands over his face, wiping away the tears. He took in a shuddering breath and climbed to his feet. He was cold and damp, but it barely bothered him. His thoughts wondered to the day at the beach when he told Miller what his mother had said. There was a reason that he was still here, and maybe that reason was not only to get justice for the Sandbrook victims and Danny, but maybe, just maybe, that reason had with utmost certainty turned his living room into her version of a CID. Complete with tea, chips and wee Fred. The thought warmed him from the inside and his steps were determined when he walked back to his home.

* * *

When he reached his house, the sun was up and it was fully light outside. The door wasn't locked. He stepped inside and he was hit by the sight of his living room wall plastered with pictures, maps, notes, and print outs. The files were scattered all over.

His face was full with incredulity, mouth gaping open, when suddenly Miller popped out from behind a stack of filing boxes. He just stared at her sight, completely dumbfounded.

"Shhhhhhh!" She waived her hands at him and then pointed at the wall. "Did you see this? Scribbled on the back of an old vehicle check form... Thorpe Agriservices." Her head twitched a little to the side with the excitement.

"What's that? Have you come across that before?" She was talking fast, almost too fast for Hardy's tired brain to follow. "And next to it... Gary Thorpe 'dash' Lee Ashworth 'question mark'."

Hardy was slowly catching up, mouth still open, staring at her like an apparition. "You've been here all night?"

She nodded quickly. "Mmm, ya, suppose I have. Fred's asleep next door." She gestured to his bedroom and added another "Shhhh!" as if to warn him not to wake the child.

The thought of a toddler sleeping in his bed put him over the edge. Exhaustion and exasperation fighting with each other, letting out a breath, he said, "I need a cuppa tea." He turned to his kitchen but was stopped by Miller speed talking away.

"Ah, now, you're out of tea bags and milk. And I've used the last of the bread." She pulled her lips into a poor imitation of an apologetic smile and if it hadn't been before he could get his morning tea, he probably would have laughed out loud.

And when they walked over to the coffee shop to get tea, he grabbed wee Fred's push chair and marched ahead, listening to her spewing out her theories about Sandbrook. He tried to convince himself that he only took the push chair to keep himself steady, but the newly found warm spot inside his ever aching chest knew better than that. He found himself desperately hoping for Ellie never to get to read the letter he wrote for her, while he was getting dazzled by her ingenuity and infectious force of life. Maybe, just maybe, love wasn't such a bad thing to happen after all.

* * *

Closing Note

Thank you for reading the story. I am most appreciative of this supportive community of fans of Alec Hardy, Ellie Miller and the rest of the Broadchurch universe. I am excited to continue writing stories about Alec as so many people encouraged me to keep on writing – you know who you are :-) – and I hope I will not disappoint.

One last thing… for those of you who thought the bit with Alec's mother was somewhat unexpected, I should maybe explain myself. When Alec told Ellie that his mother's last words to him – God would put him in the right place at the right time – while they were standing at the beach, the very beach where his first words to Ellie were the question if this is a suicide spot, I wondered about his mother's fate. And when I wrote this story, my thoughts on the answer to this question just found themselves creeping into the story. So, I hope I didn't upset anyone. If so, I'm sorry, it was not intended, it's just part of who Alec is in my head.

**THANK YOU ALL!**


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